


Blood in the Water

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Babysitting, Best Friends, Canonical Character Death, Caretaking, Episode: s2e10 eneMy of My emeMy, Episode: s2e16 oMens, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Rescue Missions, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Sacrifice, Survivor Guilt, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24210694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: Just because John acts like he's totally invincible doesn't mean that he is. He's much harder to hurt than most people, but he does bleed, he does bruise, he does break. Sometimes he forgets that protecting the others puts himself at risk, though it's harder, it's not impossible. Lorna and Marcos have been there through it all, have seen it all, from shielding them from bullets with his body to jumping in front of cars to suffering just so the others didn't have to. But sometimes it doesn't work out the way it's supposed to, and Marcos and Lorna are left to pick up the pieces,  physically, emotionally and mentally. But sometimes, there's nothing more that they could do other than hold him through it and suffer side by side.That doesn't mean that they have to like it, though. In fact, they're really fucking sick of it.
Relationships: Lorna Dane & Marcos Diaz & John Proudstar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Lorna

Lorna had always known what John was like. They had been friends from the very beginning of the Atlanta Station, when it was just the two of them, both fucked up in indescribable ways, but finding friendship and company in each other when they had been alone for so long, terrible at making friends and even worse at keeping them.

So when Marcos had called her and told her about John’s sacrifice at the hands of the Purifiers to give the others a chance to get away, she was hardly surprised. Horrified, angry, disgusted, terrified, but not surprised. A large part of her didn’t want to answer his call, worried about what would happen if she did. If Reeva caught her- caught _them_ , because Andy wasn’t going to let her leave alone- she’d be in big trouble. But could she stand there and pretend not to hate their sideways glances, the looks they sent her when they didn’t think she could see, Marcos keeping his distance when they once used to be so close? It didn’t matter. The thought of leaving John alone at the hands of the Purifiers and Jace Turner, who had an unhealthy obsession with him, really, was almost unthinkable. Worse than having to deal with palpable hatred for a couple of hours.

When they finally got him back, Andy and Lauren carrying him under the barbed wire fence, Lorna had dived forward as if nothing had changed, and suddenly, all she needed to do was take him away and take care of him and keep him safe. Marcos was already there, on John’s other side, and the two of them slowly carried him away from the Purifiers base. Slowly, because John was impossibly heavy, and he could bearly keep his feet under him. One half of his mind was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and the second half intent on trying to carry most of his weight on his own so he didn’t hurt either of his friends, but eventually, they got him far enough away and lowered him to the ground.

It was like something clicked inside of her, and she saw the same thing spark in Marcos. Protection and love.

John tried to keep himself upright on the ground, grunting with the effort, groaning at the pain that Lorna felt just by looking at him. When he looked up through his tangled, sweaty hair to meet her eyes, she didn’t flinch, even as something familiar and kind flickered in his eyes. “Hi,” he said, breathless and tired, but it made something flutter in Lorna’s chest. “Missed you.”

“Hey John,” she said as she knelt down and placed a hand on his knee. He was holding himself at an odd angle, and most of his weight was balanced precariously on his forearm. There were deep bruises and raw marks on his wrists and ankles, and a red indent on his jaw. Even without trying, Lorna could feel all the pellets embedded deep within his skin like a vibration on her fingertips, and though nobody wanted to say it out loud, she knew that it would be her torturous job to take them out of his thick flesh already healing over the wounds. “I missed you too. I leave you alone for a couple of months and you go ahead and get yourself in this kind of trouble.”

“You know me,” John tried for a joke, but it fell short with how rough his voice sounded. “Trouble is my middle name.”

While they had been speaking, Marcos knelt down beside John, one knee on the ground and the other behind John, trying to keep him upright so he could rest his weight on him. While John didn’t let all his weight go, he did seem more comfortable. Marcos had been handed a wet cloth from a harried Caitlin when it became clear that Marcos wasn’t going to let anyone else near him, at least not yet, and he began to carefully dab away crusted blood that dripped from his ear, gently pushing his hair away and wiping at the skin, muttering something under his breath loud enough for only John to hear. Lorna didn’t even notice the blood, but she didn’t like how distant John looked, or how every sudden sound made him flinch under Marcos’s soft ministrations

Clarice hovered, and Lorna knew that she wasn’t happy with Lorna being so close to him, or being there at all for that matter, but she knew that if she didn’t get this out of her system now, while she had the chance, she wouldn't be able to focus. Marcos knew it, which is why he handed Lorna the cloth to start wiping away the blood on John’s brow while he pulled apart what was left of John’s shirt to inspect the numerous wounds on his chest. Lorna hissed when she saw it. There was so much metal that it almost sang to her. 

“Andy,” Lorna called out absently, running her hand over John’s knee. “If you see any Purifiers come for us, you know the drill.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Andy replied as he pulled away from his parents and his sister and marched back to the fence, valuing her authority over his parents.

Eventually, when Marcos was satisfied that he could do no more for him while he was trembling on the ground, Lorna and Clarice helped carry him to the boot of one of the vans. “We should move,” Marcos murmured. John’s eyes were closing, and Marcos absently fisted his hands in his hair as he leant against him. “Even if it’s a little further. Just not so close.”

Keeping her hand on John’s shoulder, his hand on her’s, Lorna turned to Clarice. “Can you open a portal and get us out of here?”

When Clarice didn’t reply, her arms crossed over her chest, Marcos turned to her. “Can you?” He sounded much sterner than Lorna had the nerve to. “Now’s not the time to hold a grudge. They helped us get him out, but that means nothing if we don't get _away_.”

Muttering obscenities under her breath, Clarice pushed away from the cart and began going through the process of opening a portal. Marcos got everyone ready to back the cars through, and Lorna took his place beside John, letting him lean as much weight as he wanted on her, curling his hair around her fingers, just like they did at the very beginning. “I know she’s mad. That they’re mad,” he corrected, and his voice was weak and strained, and Lorna wanted to scream. “But for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just held him tighter, and hoped that he got the message.

Caitlin marched over without looking at her and took charge of checking John over. Reluctantly, they let go of each other, and Lorna slipped off the boot and made room for Caitlin and Clarice to take her place. She nodded to Marcos as he leant against the van, watching, and the relief on his face was palpable. 

At some point, Andy joined her where she was standing a little distance away, just watching John as he winced and shifted and groaned under his breath. He put his hands in his pockets. “We have to go soon.”

“I know.”

“If Reeva catches us, we’ll be in big trouble.”

“We’ll go soon,” Lorna reassured him when she caught the worry in his voice. Her eyes darted over to where Reed and Lauren were standing, watching them with arms crossed. “I just want to make sure we’ll leave him alright. I don’t want to leave and then find out that we were needed.”

There was a pause, and then, “Alright. I’ll follow your lead. I’m not sure how much longer I can stare them staring at me like that, though. It’s the worst.”

“Tell me about it,” Lorna laughed, and it felt so good to laugh after the kind of day she’s had that she almost couldn’t stop. “If Clarice keeps glaring at me I might comment on it, and god forbid I have any kind of opinion about it.”

Andy laughed, and it made his face light up as brightly as his hair in the sun. “Yeah. I just wish-”

He was cut off by Marcos, who had stepped away from the van and called, “Lorna!” into the hushed area. “John’s asking for you.”

She turned to Andy, a question on her lips. “Go,” He said with a nod. “I’ll be here.”

Lorna left Andy’s side to hurry over to where Marcos was waiting, looking anxious. Even Clarice and Caitlin let her through without debate, which Lorna thought was odd. It must have been bad. “What is it?” she asked when she came to a stop.

John had his legs hanging off the boot swingling softly to get his blood circulating properly after having been sitting chained up for so long in the same position. His head was hanging slightly, and his face was covered by his hair. It seemed like the only thing keeping him upright was his hands gripping the edge of the boot and pure stubborn spite. He looked at Lorna sadly but she didn’t see any disappointment like she had expected. It was the look of someone who knew what was to come and didn’t like it one bit. “You’ll have to take them out, Lorna. You know that.”

She had known, but she’d been trying not to think about it. “What do you mean?”

“The pellets, Lorna,” John replied patiently. He must have been exhausted, and in pain, but he still managed to keep his words even and his gaze steady, was still being patient with her, after all this time. “Nobody else can do it. My skin is too thick, and if they wait much longer, my body will heal with the bullets still inside, and it’ll be too late. If you don’t get them out now, they’ll never come out. You know this already.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said softly as she reached forward and ran her hands through his tangled hair, her fingers catching on the knots. He leant his face on her hand when it got close enough, and closed his eyes. She knew that they both enjoyed the familiar contact that had been absent for too long. 

“You’ll be careful,” John said, and he sounded so sure that it actually surprised her. 

But he was right. She would be careful. Well, as careful as she could be while pulling innumerable amounts of tiny pellets from John’s dense chest, his skin already mostly healed over. The thought sickened her- it had been a long time since she had used her mutation for something other than catching bullets and throwing around heavy metal bits and ripping things apart. She hadn’t used it for something this… _delicate_ in a very long time. 

Licking her lips, Lorna nodded and made the harrowing decision to step away from John, who sat up a little straighter, as if her touch energized him. “Alright,” she said mostly to herself and took a deep breath. “Everybody stand back.”

A normal person would have screamed at the amount of agony that was the act of tiny metal bullets being slowly pulled through thick skin, but the only indication that John was in any pain at all during the long, arduous process was the way he grit his teeth and closed his eyes and threw his head back so hard that his hair flared out and the metal buckled and bent from where he had his hands grasping hard at the edge of the boot until his hands were fisted in nothing but metal.

When she was finally done, Lorna held a plethora of tiny misshapen pellets in the air, spinning in a slow orbit between her and John. When she was sure that there wasn’t any that she missed, she dropped them, and they plummeted to the hard ground with the sound of bouncing metal.

She stepped back, and John slumped forward into Marcos’s waiting arms. He looked up at her through his hair, and she felt like she shared the relief written across his face. “Thanks.”

“What for?” Lorna hated how shakey her laugh was. “I didn’t do anything.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, but she wasn’t about to point that out. Not that it mattered. But John smiled, even as he struggled to hold himself upright. “You came. That means more than you know.”

“Not for long,” she warned. She didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

Everyone was silent for a few long moments, until John only shrugged, wincing at the sudden pain the motion brought. “You still came. This time you did. That matters. To me, at least.”

Tears sprung to her eyes, and unable to help herself any longer, Lorna launched herself at John and held him tightly to her chest, trying to be as careful as she could with the wounds on his chest, but that thought was second to the overbearing need to hold him close. For his part, John didn’t comment or make any sound as he brought his arms up around her. “I’ll always come. You know that, right? No matter what happens, when you call, I’ll come.”

She could feel his smile against his shoulder. “Will you come back?”

“John-”

“Not now, not soon but… eventually? To us?”

Everything within her begged her to pull away, but somehow she just couldn’t do it, and she threaded her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck instead. “Yeah, John. I’ll… I’ll come back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Lorna,” Andy warned and she shut her eyes at the reminder. “Sorry to break up this touching moment, but we’ve got to go.”

“What about you?” Lauren turned to him with arms crossed. “Do you promise to come back?”

Andy snorted. “There won’t be any point in promising, because if _Reeva realizes that we’re gone_ , we won’t be returning anywhere.”

But Lorna wasn’t listening to their bickering anymore. She was focused on John, and Marcos standing very close, a hand on each of their shoulders, as if afraid to leave either one of them alone but not able to pick who he comforts. “Take care of yourself, alright? No all-nighters, no pretending you weren’t captured and tortured and shot, no acting like the hero. Make sure you remember to eat. And shower. Don’t work too hard, or you’ll-”

“Yeah, I think we get it,” came Clarice’s voice from above her, sharp and clipped.

“Clarice,” Marcos chided, and that was enough to silence her. 

John laughed, and his breath ghosted across her face, and it was just another assurance to remind her that he was alive. “I’ll try and stay on top of it. Thanks for coming. You’ve probably got to go now.”

“Yeah, I do,” Lorna said and pulled away before she could talk herself out of it. She didn’t miss the way John took an extra second before he lowered his hands back down. She handed him off to Marcos, who rested a grounding hand on his shoulder. “You got him?”

“Yeah,” Marcos nodded, not looking at her. “We’re good here.”

Lorna turned on her heel and walked off with Andy, trying to pretend like she didn’t feel all their eyes on their retreating backs, resisting the urge to run back and never leave John’s side again.

For the next few days, Lorna made sure to send Marcos a message every day for an update on John, Andy often standing anxiously over her shoulder to see. Marcos would indulge her without question, and each day sent through a picture or a comment on how John was holding up.

It was only when Marcos sent the message, _’John’s doing much better. He misses you, though. I think we all do.’_ that she stopped asking.


	2. Marcos

Marcos knew that there was no talking John out of it even before he heard his ludicrous plan. The look on his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, the way his shoulders were tense like a wire. He tried to, of course he tried. What kind of a friend would he be if he didn’t? But he knew even as he said those words that John wouldn’t be talked out of it, and what made it even worse was that Marcos knew that he was right. He would be essentially useless trying to get Lauren and Andy back from the sisters, and nobody else could stay behind to help him. It had to be him. Jace Turner was obsessed with him, and John would be the only one to both keep his attention for long enough to allow the others to escape and to survive everything the Purifiers were going to do to him.

He watched John right before they left, holding his dog tags in one hand, his tomahawk across his lap, staring at the black warpaint in his fingers with an unreadable expression. He had never seen John wear warpaint. It was odd to see him with the smear of black across his eyes, the hand-applied battle wear that made him look much more frightening than Marcos knew he was. But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know John during his cage fighting days- maybe he was about to see a new side of him?

But it didn’t matter. John gave them long enough to get to the car and wait in the garage before he stormed out into the fray, and immediately Marcos flinched at the sound of bullets, so many bullets from so many guns. Beside him, Lorna was hunkered down in her seat, holding Marcos’s hand as if trying to keep herself still. “I should be out there,” she muttered. “I should be helping him. He's being hit with all those bullets when I could be there to stop them.”

“It’s too late for that,” Reed said. “There’s nothing we can do. We just need to wait and hope he makes it out alive. He’ll have to handle it on his own.”

Lorna took a breath, and Marcos rubbed at the back of her hand with his thumb. Through the tiny window in the rolling garage door and the front windshield, he could see glimpses of John in his red tank top and warpaint and his hair flying around his face. Marcos had never seen him bleed like that before. Not even after when they rescued him from the Purifiers base the first time, which was a testament to how bad it was already. He watched a chain wrap around John’s throat and he reached up as it choked him, and Marcos grit his teeth. He hoped that John could make it out. He wasn’t sure if he could handle losing him.

When Caitlin sped out of the garage and down the road with the sound of squealing tires, Marcos and Lorna both peered out the back window to see John watching them go, cut up and bleeding in more places than they could count, before he turned around and limped off down the alleyway while Jace was distracted by their exit, shouting orders out after them and looking around for John in the fray, looking more and more distressed and frustrated.

“How is he?” Caitlin asked when she watched them in the rear-view mirror settle back down in their seats. 

“Not great,” Marcos said honestly, not able to keep the bite from his words. “Just drive.”

The longer they were away from John, the more Marcos had to fight back the panic. If John had survived, he would have heard something by now. John would have called, or sent word, or come and found them. But so far, they heard nothing, and Marcos couldn’t help but assume the worst. But that was impossible, right? It was very hard to hurt John, let alone kill him with nothing but normal human guns. John was stronger than that, better than that in every way. He couldn’t die. But somehow, Marcos wasn’t quite so sure.

He could feel how tense Lorna was beside him. She had pulled her knives from one of her holsters and twisted it around in her fingers, her eyes anxiously looking out for any sign of John. The tension rolled off her in waves, and Marcos shared her worry. The fact that they had no idea what had happened was worrying.

They found Zingo alone in the apartments, clawing at the door and whining when she heard their approach. But John was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the scene looked exactly as it had when Marcos ducked his head in before they left, with the bowl of now-dried warpaint on the table and the chair by the window pushed out a little ways from the table. The only thing missing was John himself.

“Should we take her?” Lorna asked, where she had knelt on the floor to pat a frantic Zingo while she let Marcos search through the apartment, hoping to find John in one of the other rooms, possibly asleep and not aware of their entrance.

“I don’t see why not,” Marcos said as he re-entered John’s bedroom- the room he used to share with Clarice, and still had her things exactly where she had left them- and plucked some random things from his drawers. A shirt, a jacket, a pair of underwear, a pair of pants, his shoes and socks. “I’m going to pack him some clothes in case we find him and he looks like shit.”

“He probably will,” Lorna said as she grabbed Zingo’s leash. “We saw him. Bring whatever you can. We’ll probably need it.”

“I wonder where Caitlin and the kids are going,” Marcos just tried to make conversation. He needed something to get his mind off of how John wasn’t here and he had no idea where else he could have gone if he was still alive. “I haven’t spoken to them since… you know. It must be hard. I know I’d be inconsolable if I had a good relationship with my father and he died.”

“I’ll speak to Andy about it later. But they’re strong. They’ll be fine,” Lorna stood up and was practically dragged to the door by Zingo, her tail wagging erratically, but still whining painfully. Almost like she was as worried about John’s absence as they were. “But we’ve got more important things to worry about. They’re going to see Erg. Maybe we should join them? He might be down there?”

Marcos shrugged. “I don’t know. John doesn’t like anything about Erg and his group. But it couldn’t hurt, right? If he’s dead, he’s not going to be any more dead when we find him. If he’s alive, he’ll heal up by the time we find him. We should go check it out anyway.”

Zingo mostly led the way as they walked in the direction of the Morlock’s entrance. There was still blood all over the street, and Marcos wasn’t sure if it was John’s or the Purifiers. There was an upended mailbox filled with bullet holes across the way. There were buildings with broken brick scattered across the footpath. Bloody handprints too. Marcos tried not to look at them very much.

They made the walk through the sewers in silence, and when they entered the open chamber, they were met with hushed conversation and a sombre atmosphere. Even Zingo's tail seemed to slow, and her whining got deeper. In the corner, clustered together in a little huddle, they saw the Strucker's seated on a couple of rough chairs, Andy asleep on his head on his mother's shoulder, Lauren curled up against the arm of the couch. They all looked like they had been crying, which was to be expected, but Caitlin looked up at them as they entered, and relief flashed across her eyes. “Oh good, you made it,” she said. “John’s here. I think he’s alright, but he wouldn’t let me look him over. He’s in the back.”

It was like an impossible weight had been lifted off his chest, and Marcos knew that Lorna shared the feeling. They didn’t thank her, because she didn’t look like she was in the right headspace for any sort of real conversation, so they left the family alone in their grief and followed her direction to the back of the room.

John sat there, shrouded mostly in darkness where the light from the torches didn’t reach, slumped on a crate, his hair covering his face, shoulders slumped, breathing hard, a blanket throw over his shoulders. When they were close enough, Lorna let go of Zingo's leash and let her weave through the crowd and leap up onto John’s lap, licking at his face and wiggling around in his arms that he barely managed to get around her in time. “Oh,” he blinked, running a hand over her head. “Hey, girl. How did you-” he broke off when he caught sight of Lorna and Marcos coming to a stop right before him. “Oh, right. Are you alright? Everything OK?”

“We’re fine, John,” Marcos laughed lightly as he placed a hand on John’s shoulder, trying not to hurt him, but he still winced anyway. “You look like shit, you know.”

“Yeah, I feel like it too,” John said with a faint laugh.

“I want to hug you right now, but I’m worried you’ll fall over with a stiff breeze,” Lorna laughed, but even though she had her arms crossed over her chest and tried to seem disinterested, there was no masking the tears in her voice. “Are you OK?”

John shrugged. Zingo had settled in his lap, and though his chest was covered in blood-spotted white bandages, he pretended that he wasn’t in any sort of pain at all. “Fine, I suppose. I’m not dead. I heard about Reed. That was a blow that I wasn’t expecting.”

Marcos threaded his hands in John’s hair and didn’t miss the way he leant back into the touch, almost seeking it out, and Marcos was more than willing to oblige. “Yeah. It was rough. But we can’t think about that now, we’ll mourn him tomorrow, when we’re all feeling a little better. Are you ready to get out of here?”

Nodding, John shifted and Lorna moved to his other side to help him stand. “I thought you’d never ask,” he gently shrugged off their hands when they tried to help him walk. “I appreciate it, but you both know that’s useless. I’m more likely to crush you than you are to carry even a little bit of my weight.”

“No need to rub it in,” Marcos laughed, ruffling John’s hair. Though John had dismissed him, he still kept one hand around John’s arm, just for his own sanity. After being afraid that John was dead in a ditch somewhere, it was nice to feel him alive and moving under his fingers. 

Lorna shrugged. “If you give me a minute, I can find some metal and then I could just float you out. They’ve got to have some chains or some scrap-metal around here or something.”

“I already had to have Erg back me up during the fight and then drag me down here to patch me up,” John rolled his eyes. “The last thing I need is for all his resistance group watching me be levitated out of this hellhole.”

Marcos elbowed John in the side. He didn’t think about it, because a light elbow in the side would be nothing to John, he normally wouldn’t even feel it, but this time he winced and hissed a pained breath. “Sorry. But what the hell was up with that suicide stunt? You didn’t have to do that. You could have been killed. That was so dangerous. You need to stop pretending that you're invulnerable.”

“I’m not pretending anything. I am invulnerable.”

“Yeah, all that blood and bullet wounds really scream ‘invulnerable’ to me.”

“Alright then, Mr Logistics, I’m  _ near _ -invulnerable.”

“You’re super insufferable is what you are.”

“Children,” Lorna interrupted playfully, flicking Marcos in the back of the head. She held Zingo's leash as the dog weaved between the legs of other mutants. But Marcos knew that she was just as glad to see John alive as he was. “You’re sure you’re OK, John?”

“Well,” John said as he shuffled his way out of the room. “I’m breathing. I can move all my limbs. I have both my eyes, all my fingers and toes. I can walk on my own. I’m not dead, which is always a bonus. So yeah, I think I’m fine, all things considering.”

Marcos threw his arm over John’s shoulder, and thankfully, that didn’t seem to cause him any undue pain. “I’m glad to hear it, but really, John, I’ve never seen anything like that. You looked like you were going to kill him. Uh… _did_ you kill him?”

There was a pause, a tense silence broken only by the soft conversation of mutants around them and John’s shuffling feet against the dirty ground. Lorna and Marcos exchanged a worried glance over his head. “No, I didn’t. I was going to. I actually set out there with the whole idea of ripping him apart with my bare hands. I almost did, too, had him on the ground and everything. But then he _begged_ for it. He wanted to see his daughter. But he didn’t deserve mercy. Not from me, anyway. Not after what he did, after everything that he’s done. I left him alive.”

“Either way,” Marcos said gently, sensing the change in mood. “I was really worried about you when you made the decision to distract them for us. It was a little bit of a suicide mission. You sacrificed yourself for us, not knowing if you would make it out alive. You didn’t even seem to think it over, you just… acted on the first plan you came up with. That’s not like you, John.”

Sighing, John shrugged and reached a hand that was faintly shaking from exhaustion and exertion up to push his hair out of his face. Lorna leant over and moved away the strands he missed behind his ear. “I know. I guess… I suppose I just needed to let it out a little bit. It felt nice to let loose for once. I never get to do that anymore without the fear of hurting someone. Everything changes when you don’t care about casualties. I think I needed that,” he glanced back over to where he was sitting before, that lightless corner beside the wall. “That’s where she died, you know. Clarice. Where Jace shot her before I could reach her.”

Involuntarily, Marcos winced and Lorna glanced over and quickly turned back. “I’ve never seen you in warpaint like that before,” she said in an attempt to change the subject, the silent promise to talk about Clarice later. “It was intimidating. And actually kinda cool.”

“Yeah,” John laughed faintly. He was tired, and Marcos knew it just by looking at him. It was strange. It was rare to see John outwardly tired, especially out in the open and in front of people like this. “It felt nice to have a reason to wear it.”

Chuckling, Marcos wrapped an arm around John and held him closer. His skin was cold, and Marcos lit up both his hands to warm him up a little until they could get him somewhere warmer, with a working heater and lots of blankets and hot chocolate. “Let's get you home, brother. It’s been a very long day.”


	3. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my least favourite chapter, flow-wise, but I hope you enjoyed this fic! I had a lot of fun with it and I was really pleased with how it turned out. Thank you to the five people still in the fandom who read this xx

It was John’s turn to babysit Dawn, and he sat on the roof of their apartment complex in a rickety old deck chair with his feet up on the parapet, a beer in one hand, gently rocking Dawn’s metal cradle back and forth with his other. She was asleep but even as young as she was, she refused to let go of that little metal rattle that Marcos had made for her so long ago, one hand in her mouth, her tiny fingers wrapped around the cool handle of her toy.

Well, ‘turn’ and ‘babysit’ weren't really the right words. He had volunteered to watch her, to give Lorna and Marcos some much needed time to themselves, which they had been secretly grateful for. Honestly, it was a little bit for John’s benefit himself. Lorna had been back for a little while now, and John really hadn’t had any interaction with Dawn. Even though everything had calmed down a bit, now that Reeva and the Purifiers were out of the picture, but still, he had done everything he could do to keep himself busy so he didn’t have to think about…

But he didn’t have to do that anymore. There was nothing for him to plan, nothing for him to organize, no Underground to lead. So he really had all the time in the world. Time that he should be spending with his… he didn’t really know what Dawn was. He thought of Marcos as his brother, so did that make her his niece? Or was she just the baby of some friends, the mascot of the remains of the ruined Underground? No, she was much more than the baby of some friends. Maybe it was because he knew that Lorna was pregnant before she was arrested, the second heartbeat faint but there, the glow to her skin, even the change to the way she smelled, less like iron, more like rain. Rain on a sunny day. That was probably Marcos- the scent of starlight and smoke.

He looked over to Dawn, cooing in her crib, bundled up in so many blankets that he could hardly see her. Even after all this time, he still hadn’t held her. He was too afraid to. She was so delicate, and he was so strong, so brutish, so unaware of what he could do sometimes. He could crush metal and stone and cement without even thinking about it- imagine the damage he could do to a small infant? He didn’t want to think about it. No, Marcos had dropped her off at John’s apartment with a smile and everything he would need, and he had immediately gone to Caitlin to request that she help him bundle her up and make her more comfortable in the metal cradle. She didn’t ask why he wouldn’t hold her, wouldn’t even touch her really, but she didn’t need to. She understood. Not much, but to an extent, she had seen what he could do accidentally, absentmindedly, without even trying.

But it did make him feel ashamed when even Andy, who had chaos and destruction running through his veins, came over to run a gentle hand down Dawn’s cheek without a thought. 

“You’re gonna be a weird kid,” he said quietly to her as he rocked her cradle back and forth. “Your parents don’t know it, but I’ve seen what they do. Sometimes I see it afterwards, sometimes I can see it through the walls. It’s very bright. Very pretty, but very bright.” He chuckled. “I have a feeling, that if you’re anything like your parents, that you’re going to give me a run for my money. Just, go easy on me, alright? I’m not sure I can take any more of your parents' stupidity. All that, condensed into one person? My heart might give out on me by the time you learn to talk. I might not be able to cope.”

He looked up at the sky. The stars were out tonight, and every time he looked at them, he couldn’t help but think of Clarice. She loved the stars. Loved the unknown, the freedom. Sometimes, he thought he could see her, dancing in waves of purple up there between the stars, the space between everything and nothing. But that was wrong. Clarice was dead. There was no changing that. 

When he heard the familiar gait of two pairs of footsteps on the stairs leading up to where he sat on the roof, John turned expectantly to the door moments before Marcos and Lorna joined him on the roof. “Thought we’d find you up here,” Marcos greeted him. “This has tended to become our brooding spot over the last few months.”

“I’m not brooding,” John said. “I was just begging Dawn to go easy on me when she gets older. I’m not sure I can handle someone exactly like the two of you. I was thinking, like, it’s obvious that she’ll be a mutant.”

“We’re trying not to think about that,” Lorna said as she looked out over the edge.

“I know, but, do you think she’ll be able to do that thing you guys do? The light show?” John asked. “Because that would be an awesome mutation. Pretty, too. It would make up for the ugly looks she got from Marcos’s side.” 

He winked, and Marcos rolled his eyes. Lorna laughed. “Alright, that’s enough. Lorna, can you…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Lorna’s green-lit hands twisted and pieces of discarded scrap metal floated from the ground which she shaped and moulded into seats for her and Marcos, and she lowered it down gently beside John and Dawn. When she moved to sit down, she peered into Dawn’s cradle and smiled softly. “Who wrapped her in blankets? You?”

“Caitlin,” John said as Marcos joined them, and shrugged at her expression. “What?”

“You’re allowed to touch her, you know.” Marcos snorted. 

“I know I’m allowed. But I don’t want to hurt her,” John said. “You know that sometimes… I’m stronger than I mean to be. I bend and break things without meaning to. I don’t want to be responsible for hurting her.”

Lorna looked at him with gentle eyes, and John felt compelled to look away, but he couldn’t. It had been so long since he’d looked her in the eyes, so long since she had been this close, that he couldn’t bring himself to break it. “You’re not a brute, John. You can be gentle when you need to be. I’ve seen it.”

But John shook his head. “That was a long time ago. I’m not sure I have that in me anymore.”

“It’s not like you can just forget how to be gentle,” Marcos said, although he too seemed to be trying to keep his voice soft and gentle, and John wasn’t sure it was entirely for the baby’s benefit. “I’ve seen you catch and carry people before. It’s no different with a baby. I’m sure you’d do fine.”

“It’s not exactly the greatest feeling to be carried by me. And on the rare occurrence that someone is _forced_ to for me to carry them, they’re usually unconscious and dying, and I’m mostly concentrating on trying not to drop them. And catching people hurts a tonne too. I’m sure Lorna can attest to that.”

“I mean, yeah, it hurt, because you’re still more _solid_ than most,” Lorna admitted. “But I would have much rather landed on you than the hard stairs.”

“I knew you were pregnant back then, you know,” he said and shrugged at their shocked looks. “I can hear your heartbeats, remember? But, for the record, I would have caught you whether you were pregnant or not.”

“I still think you’re making a big deal out of this,” Marcos said.

“Dude, I’m bulletproof. My skin is like stone. You can’t put a needle in me. I’m as heavy as a mountain. I’m not designed to be gentle. You really want me to hold your child? If it were anyone else with my mutation and description, you wouldn't let Dawn anywhere near them,” John pointed out, and felt satisfied when Marcos didn’t comment. 

Sighing, Lorna reached into the cradle and pulled Dawn out, smiling as she did so. “Hey darling,” she said quietly as she carried her past a foolishly grinning Marcos, to John, who looked at her like she held an explosive bomb in her arms. “Here, take her. You won’t drop her.”

“Lorna-”

“You’ll be careful.”

It was something he said to her so long ago, so long ago that it almost felt like a memory, and the implication was not lost on him. While it wasn’t something as serious or dangerous as removing bullets from flesh, it was just as delicate, just as important. He looked down at the little bundle in Lorna’s arms, her eyes still closed, and realized that if he ever hurt this baby he would never forgive himself. “No, Lorna, I’m sorry. I won’t.”

This time, Lorna rolled her eyes at him, and Marcos scoffed from beside him. “I knew you were stubborn but I didn’t think you were that bad,” she said as she petty much shoved Dawn into his arms. He tried to resist as long as he could, but when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to leave it be, he took her, only because he didn’t want to hurt her. He held her in one hand, her head cradled between his fingers. She was so small, he didn’t know how to function with something so tiny and delicate in his grasp. “There you go. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

John didn’t even breathe for fear that he would hurt her, and Marcos slapped him in the back of the head. “You can breathe, John. You’re not _that_ strong.”

“Lorna, take her back now,” John said. “Let’s not tempt fate. We knew that it always bites us on the ass in the end.”

“John, you’re doing great. She isn’t crying, so you’re not hurting her.”

“But I could at any moment. I’m genuinely trying not to move an inch.”

“Maybe bring her a little closer to your body. Babies like contact.”

“I doubt she’ll like contact with me very much. It’d be like trying to hug a brick wall.”

“John-”

“ _ Lorna _ .”

Groaning, Marcos reached out and took Dawn from John’s arms, and John felt like a child-sized weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he let out a sigh of relief. “John, I love you very much, I think that you're under the impression that you're more brutal than you really are. You’re not a savage, or a brute, or a grunt, or a deadly machine. You’re really not as bad as you think you are, let me tell you.”

“I don’t want to risk it,” John said quietly, “The last thing I want is to be responsible for hurting your daughter in any way, even accidentally.”

“Yeah, well, you better get used to holding her sooner rather than later if you’re going to be her godfather.” Marcos said. “I expect you to be holding her and feeding her and putting her to bed without us or help from Caitlin in no time.”

It felt like all the air had been punched from his chest, and he didn't say that lightly. Only a couple of people had ever been able to do that, his brother being one of them. “What? Did you say _godfather_?”

“Well, metaphorically,” Lorna amended. “But yeah, godfather.”

“Why me?”

“Who else would it be?” Marcos laughed. “You’re the only choice. I mean, it was always going to be you, even from before we knew Lorna was pregnant. You’re family, man. You’re always our first choice, no matter what.”

John had never heard those words before. It had been so long since he had felt like that, since Gus, since Sonya, since Clarice… that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. That he was anybody's first choice for anything. That he was worthy. “Oh,” was all he managed, and Lorna and Marcos laughed softly at his response.

“Yeah, which means that we need you around for as long as possible,” Marcos said. “So no more sacrificing yourself for others. No more getting kidnapped by hate groups and fighting to the death. No more reckless decisions or trying to get yourself killed, or getting into violent situations just to feel in control, alright?”

Honestly, John didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t even thought of that as what he was doing, but yeah, maybe he was. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was being reckless on purpose, getting hurt and hurting others just to feel something akin to control. He didn’t like to admit it, but maybe they knew him better than he knew himself. At least lately. He didn’t even know who he was anymore. 

Still reluctant, John moved over a little closer to where Marcos was holding Dawn against his chest, his palms glowing slightly to warm her up and keep away the sudden chill, and he ran a finger down her face, shaking with the amount of unnecessary restraint he applied just to ensure a feather-light touch against her fragile cheek, and she cooed and leant into his touch, like his skin wasn’t rough like sand and hard like rocks and tough like stone. “Hey Dawn,” he whispered. “You really are a weird kid, huh?”

He didn’t miss the unreadable yet palpable expression that Marcos and Lorna shared, but he didn’t mind. He was focused entirely on Dawn, and her wide eyes watching him curiously and her lips parted slightly as she licked at her metal rattle, trying his damndest not to hurt her. But he suddenly realized that he would die thousands of times over, kill again and again before he let anything happen to her.

“Yeah,” Marcos said as Lorna rested her head on his shoulder. “I think we’re all going to be OK.”

And for the first time in too long, John felt like he could believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the reason that Dawn's cradle is metal is that I saw somewhere (probably Tumblr) that Marcos would weld a metal cradle so Lorna could rock her with her powers and take it with them everywhere and stuff. I don't know, I just thought it was cute. A team effort. Also, it's OBVIOUS that Dawn is gonna be a mutant, so what if her mutation, in part, is the ability to create the Aurora Borealis like Marcos and Lorna produce whenever they touch??? I don't know, I just think that would be really cool.


End file.
